Page 23 of Show Me

“See you.”

He turns and walks toward the door, moving like our conversation didn’t impact him. While leaving me reeling. Because he noticed I was upset. Because he checked on me.

Don’t read anything into it. He’s the kind of guy who notices things. And steps in to fix things. It didn’t mean anything.

The bell jingles as he leaves.

I look back down at the file so I can rewrite names I already wrote the first time correctly.

Across the room, Lindsey isn’t working out. She’s watching the door. The same door he walked through. Her eyes narrow before she turns away and strides over to one of the trainers. When she points at the leg press, he smiles at her and nods. At least Lindsey found someone to help her go over the equipment again.

I frown. Like she doesn’t know how to operate the equipment in the gym, girls like her annoy me.

Chapter Twelve

Xavier

I shoulder the door open with a box of invoices and step over a stack of blueprints. Those weren’t there this morning. The phone rings. Stops. Rings again.

Whoever’s calling gives up before I can reach it.

Perfect.

Behind the desk, Dad hunches over the computer as if it had personally offended him. His reading glasses sit halfway down his nose. He rubs one hand over his forehead while the other jabs at the keyboard with the determination of a man trying to win a fistfight with technology. To date, he’s never won.

“You hit save?” I drop the invoices on the corner of the desk. The office smells like sawdust, coffee, and frustration.

He doesn’t look up. “If this thing loses another hour of payroll, I’m setting it on fire.”

“Fire’s bad for business.”

“So is not paying your crew.”

He has a point. The phone rings again. Dad stares at it like he might will it to stop. It doesn’t.

I reach across him and pick up the receiver. “Cole Construction.” Silence. Then a click. I hang up. “That was productive.”

He exhales, leaning back in his chair. The lines around his eyes look deeper than they did last year. “Temps don’t know our clients. Clients don’t like repeating themselves. I don’t like repeating myself,” he rumbles.

“You like repeating yourself.”

“Not to strangers.” His voice remains irritated. He pinches the bridge of his nose and squints at the screen. “Why is Jenkins showing forty-seven hours? He was out sick on Tuesday.”

I study the spreadsheet. Sixteen hours on Monday? We didn’t work that long. “The temp entered Monday twice. Delete the duplicate.”

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a threat. I’m not sure who or what he’s threatening.

I grab the mouse and fix it in three clicks. “There.”

He studies the screen, then leans back again. “You ever think about how much easier this was when Donna handled the office?”

“Of course.” I shrug. Donna worked for my father for years until she retired six months ago. “You ever think about hiring someone permanent?”

“You got someone who wants to answer phones for a living?”

The phone rings again. I stare at it. It does nothing but sit there. I let it ring again before picking up. “Cole Construction.”

“Yeah, this is Travis over on Maple. Concrete truck’s late.” His voice is so loud that I have to pull the receiver back.